To Seek Revenge May Lead To Hell
by Amythista
Summary: After the events of the movie, a funeral is held, but not only the living are present. Reposted because it got deleted for some reason, used to be 'Life Is For The Alive.' Rated cause it's Sweeney Todd.


My first 'deep' Sweeney fanfic. Inspired by watching the opening credits and The Ballad of Sweeney Todd

Dedicated to Girly, for the inspiration, and my beta silveraquarius, because they are awesome. 'ank ya, loves!

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Nature and man sometimes collide. Nature cannot tell when something horrible has happened- the day Pearl Harbor was bombed was sunny, while many weddings have taken place in thunderstorms and sleet. The mood of each can clash with the outsider's view, a gloomy day filled with happiness and joy for two people, fear and suffering on a day one would enjoy at the beach. Weather and nature do not bother themselves with man's troubles.

On the days and nights they match perfectly, who knows why nature decides to pay attention? Perhaps it realizes that this even should be celebrated, that this day is too joyous to be marred by bad weather. Perhaps it can sense the great tragedy, and at least offer clouds to show that it, too, is crying.

_This was one of those nights._

To cities all over the world, it was just another night. Weather was nice, weather was horrid, it was day, it was night, people were born, people died, people celebrated, people mourned.

_Only in one city did an entire population mourn._

Candles flickered in windows everywhere, bathing London in an orange light. They danced, swishing this way and that, disappearing in a gust of wind. It looked as though all of London were celebrating.

And celebrating they were. _Though they won't admit it_. Celebrating being alive, having the blood inside them still moving, still pumping, instead of splashing out to drench a man's clean white shirts, laundered with care, only to be cast aside to be cleaned again. _Bloodied, laundered, bloodied, laundered_. A pattern nearly every person went through, but not one's burden was stained with such a gory ingredient. _No one, that is, 'cept for the baker's laundry on Fleet Street..._

At 8:00 that evening, the husbands and fathers, daughters and sons, mothers and- widows, many now, gathered in the courtyard. Some held a small candle. Some brought photographs. Some brought a weapon, to defend. Nearly everyone brought some token, hoping to ward off the sprirts that certainly wandered, lost.

The mediums did well. Many séances took place that night. The one closest to a certain Fleet Street was the most crowded, though no one noticed a shadow in the back of the room, nor did anyone notice that the table shook throughout, without help from the fake medium's hands. No one knew the next morning why she had taken poison, _o' the nightmares that 'll 'aunted 'er 'til she does.._

On the street, a small party of strong, brave men-_ not too brave, are they now, love? Shakin' in their boots, they are_- ventured into the mouth of Hell itself, to bring back the devil and his accomplice. A body was looked at, shuddered at, thrown into a bag, wide-open eyes avoided. _They'll tell themselves it's nothing but the horror and pain of a dead man's expression, but they are too afraid to look, to see the look of a demon in the eyes. _Ashes scooped from the furnace, eyes averted as the men thought of the horrors of the oven itself- relieved the inferno was out at last. _Distractions, nothin' but distractions, that's all. Tryin' not ta think o' their neighbor burnin' down to those lumps of dark, cold, unforgivin' darkness..._

They grabbed a random jar of the shelves, opening it to reveal a powdery white subtance. _'overed in it all day, I was, only fitting I be 'overed with it in death, too..._They dropped the ashes in, a coffin until the grave is completed, and hand it to a baker from Chancery Lane, who looked at the jar as though she scarcely believed it was there.

A quiet, eerily high voice broke out singing among them._ Mrs. Moony and 'er pie shop...business never better usin' only pussy cats 'n toast...killed my own, she did, the old 'ag...it's priest, Mista T, 'ave some priest..._the melody came from everywhere, behind a head, three inches away. Mrs. Moony screamed and the voice faded, still singing about the priest. Nothing but a dead memory of two people waltzing around a shop, singing only of the horrors they were about to commit. Those who passed by the day had long forgotten, but the memory burst into life once more, causing a man to shudder with fear. If only he had known...only if he had paid closer attention to their happy song...would his brother be alive?

The party moved toward the graveyard, Mrs. Moony now watching the jar with fear, watching as though it would jump out at her any moment, screaming. The men carrying the body bag shifted uneasily, the man in front constantly turning slightly to make sure their burden hadn't risen, that he wasn't watching them even now. The one in back didn't bother looking away. _Perhaps grocer, my love? It's green, like you said...remember that, my pet?_

When they finally got back, it was nearly 10:00. The others stood waiting, watching the bag with fear in their eyes. _The flour jar's ignored. 'oo'd ever care for a little flour jar? All that's left o' your poor Mrs. Lovett..._

A grave had been dug, a stone made. The men, too afraid, dumped the bag unceremoniously into the pit. Mrs. Mooney poured the contents of teh jar, flour and all, on top of the body bag. In a few years, all that will remain is the ashes and the bones, thrown together in the unending sleep of the angels. Or demons.

_In death, Mrs. Lovett, you get your wish._

When the ashes are poured and the body dumped, they stood around, silence overtaking them as they stared at the remains of demons.

_Attend the tale of Sweeney Todd, _whispered the wind. The people shivered, tried to ignore it, before one man speaks up, singing with the wind, softly, hoarsely.

"His skin was pale and his eye was odd." Someone almost laughs, and people nod in agreement.

"He shaved the faces of gentlemen," said another man, "who never thereafter were heard of again."

Whatever mirth there was is quickly gone.

"He trod a path that few have trod," he continued. "did Sweeney Todd." He stepped a bit forward, to gaze down at the darkness that hides the demons.

_Demons, they call us. _

_"The demon barber of Fleet Street..." _came the voice, rising and falling with the wind, picking up one of the ashes and setting it above the dead man's heart. They shivered again, children pressing to their mother's skirts.

"He kept a shop in London town," sang a young boy suddenly. "Of fancy clients and good renown." He glanced up at his widowed mother, who stares at the remains with grief and horror. "And what if none of their souls were saved? They went to their maker impeccably shaved..." he swallowed, throat dry. "by Sweeney."

"By Sweeney Todd!" his mother added. "the Demon Barber of Fleet Street!"

The wind moaned, a melody known to only two people, two days dead. Perhaps the wind wasn't what it claimed to be that night, perhaps for once nature and man had collaborated, to make this demon of the world, this tragedy of man.

"Swing your razor wide, Sweeney, hold it to the skies. Freely flows the blood of those who moralize." Two people say it, three, four. People say it becaus ethe words spill through their lips, not of their free will.

A man with sandy hair stepped forward, eyes red-rimmed and arm around a shivering woman, his lover. "His needs were few, his room was bare. A lavabo and a fancy chair. A mug of suds, and a leather strop, an apron, a towel, a pail, and a mop. For neatness he deserves a nod, does Sweeney Todd, the demon barber of Fleet Street." He chokes and steps back, but the woman remains forward, clenching and unclenching her fists.

"Inconspicuous Sweeney was, quick, and quiet and clean he was." she sang, voice high and clear and sweet, like a finch. A green finch. "Back of his smile, under his word, Sweeney heard music that nobody heard. Sweeney pondered and Sweeney planned, like a perfect machine he planned."  
She stepped back, hood and the arm of her lover hiding the yellow hair from the rest of the world as a murmur broke out over the crowd, and the couple left the graveyard.

"Sweeney was smooth, Sweeney was subtle, Sweeney would blink, and rats would scuttle." Rose the chant, half sung half wailed, going on and on till the screech of a beggar woman cut them off.

"Sweeney!" she screamed. "Sweeney! Sweeney! Sweeney! Sweeney!"

Everyone almsot unconsiously glanced at the grave, before a new voice sounded and everyone looked at him. When had he gotten there?

"Attend the tale of Sweeney Todd," he sang, voice quiet and smooth. His arm was around the waist of a small woman, his other hand in his pocket, but the darkness hid their faces. "Attend the tale of Sweeney Todd." the crowd repeated.

"He served a dark and vengeful god,"

"He served a dark and vengeful god!" came the repeat.

"Wot 'appened then," the voice of a strong Cockney accent, and some people's eyes widened, beginning to put things together.

But...the grave?

And a shiver runs through them, confirming their answer.

"well, 'e wouldn't want us ta give it away." her voice held amusement, and some furrowed their eyebrows. What about this is amusing?

"Not Sweeney," joins the two voices.

"Not Sweeney Todd!" joins the crowd.

"the demon barber of Fleet Street!"

And a hush feel over the crowd, hearing a soft voice coo softly, giggle, and a man answer, laughing.

The first memory, of a man who stood up to Pirreli, informing him his elixer was piss and ink. His backup, stifling laughter at her comrade's behavior.

Watching the couple dance in her shop, laughing about something, watching the people outside with glints in their eyes.

The woman serving, the boy helping, the man watching.

And how had it come to this...?

The crowd disperses, forgetting about the uncovered body. The man remains until the people are entirely gone. The woman wordlessly hands him a shovel, and they work on covering the grave, silence overtaking them.

When the work is done, she gives him a half-smile, and he almost smiles back, but it's too soon for that. It will, the time will come, but not then. Not there.

So he stands and offers her a hand, she accepts, and the begin to walk.

No one notices the couple disappear.

_HERE LIES_

_Sweeney Todd and Eleanor Lovett_

_Barber and Baker_

_Murderers of 143 people_

_Life is for the Alive, My Dear_

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Lovett? Hattit? Reviewit! 


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